31, Agosto

Piet Mondrian, Meandering Landscape with River (1906-1907)

“Books will give rest sometimes against
 the uproar of water falling
 and righting itself to refall filling
 the mind with its reverberation
                    shaking stone.”

William Carlos Williams, Paterson, Book Three (The Library)

The inexhaustible becomes the forgotten. I abhor times of initiation and transition; this science of conjuring aphotic worlds is annealed by a silence which, by nature of the perpetuity of the task, is a material purely chosen for its endlessness. Every sound is an inevitable interruption of form. Wind tortures the reed panicles whose boisterous death is throated fury. The moorhen’s vilipended chucker licks the bulrush like a similar furious gale. The water itself seems bellicose and exuberant, as if all of its threadings required musical punctuation. This is the impression of time hitting the bodies with its venomous silence, a silence I’ve learnt to reproduce because melding with it is the condign manner in which to live; restful, blind, pushing the objects of our impotence onto the margins where such concepts fail to get a grasp. I’m reminded of the iniquity of growing. I’m reminded of a poem. It hasn’t been written, and my mind has the invidious habitude of searching humiliation—my silence already occupies too much of itself. It’s already too corruptive. I’m impressed against the panicles and the moorhens and the bulrushes, my whole body timed and melo-poetic. I’m a unique form infolding the view. I must bear the infelicitous brand of my personalisation: the pains of growing too much, too fast, gobbling up the youthful light like it is the very silence poems seem to be made of.

The seeming, however, is the elusive material, the gilding, the part with any worth, the part with any limitation.


To chronicle the worst months of any year,
João-Maria.

Published by João-Maria

A tick clinging to the bristles of a purple boar.

32 thoughts on “31, Agosto

  1. WOW. Truly remarkable prose and this is absolutely melodic and poignant in theme. As well, I had to catch up with my friend, Merriam Webster, while reading this.

    Beautifully penned with indeed some melancholy. I hope the months ahead are better for you. ❤️

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Very powerfully evoked. You plumbed the depths of the human heart and psyche so eloquently in this open heart rending lyrical and eloquent piece, accompanied by a very apt painting and quotation that perfectly complimented your excellent piece

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you, d.a.!

      I have this thing, I can spend ages thinking of what to write, how to prepare it, but once it is written, I can match anything to it. A song, a painting, a quote. It just comes to me.

      Like

    1. Bruce!,
      I thought you were irate at me, given the fact that you ignored my last comment in a post of yours. I’m glad you’re still here.

      Sometimes, when I’m out and about and its rather silent around me, I write poems in my mind. I never remember them, though I do think patches of them end up as shipwrecked, waterlogged waste in some of the poems I do sit down and write. Art can be wasteful in interesting ways, I suppose.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Oh, no… I’m so sorry. I never had a pet, and I couldn’t possibly know the pain. I’ve lost people, but I’ve been told it’s different. None are worse than the other, just different.

        You know I’m not great with the empathic things, but I can’t imagine that one gets accustomed to loss. It’s an anchor state. Sometimes, too much so. I hope you’re better now.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Thanks João-Maria. I don’t think anyone is that good at the condolence thing. As I said to Andrea somewhere (Harvesting Hecate) it was not being able to find a vet for ten hours and the dog having terrible pain that was the awfulest part. Anyway they always leave a big hole, and one doesn’t realize how a dog imposes itself on every aspect of your life until they’re not there!

        Liked by 1 person

      3. The vet thing must’ve been horrible; I’m assuming it was a COVID-related lack of available services.
        Again, I never had any pet, not even a dog, but of those I know, they do seem like the acme of good company; non-demanding yet ever-present. The bad part of having is lacking, I suppose.

        Liked by 1 person

      4. That’s true João-Maria (the bit about the bad part!). As one of the commentators said in a comment – “Having a pet is making a contract with sorrow – unless it’s a parrot!”
        The lack of vet thing wasn’t COVID related but simply because there was only one vet on duty in the area on the weekend – which apparently is usually enough. It wasn’t enough of course, and the vet couldn’t leave the animal hospital and we couldn’t take the dog to the vet because he was 35 kilos of constant flaying about.

        Liked by 1 person

      5. Yes – I’m fine and especially so since this morning I went to the Pharmacy to get some expensive medication (for myself) and she said no charge!!!!! I didn’t ask why, but just bowed gratefully.

        Liked by 1 person

    1. O, thank you thank you, Trent. There are different exceptionalisms in different fields. I, for one, have a penchant for forms and I’m manifestly influenced by Russian formalism, but that’s the extension of my style, I often find. You have a characterological impression that reminds me of ancient diegesis and that I envy greatly.

      Liked by 1 person

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